


The Miko of the Forest Shrine

by AriadneKurosaki



Category: Bleach
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Aizen Sosuke Being a Bastard, Alternate Universe - Historical, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Protective Kurosaki Ichigo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriadneKurosaki/pseuds/AriadneKurosaki
Summary: There is a sound in the shrine, a scrape of sandal against stone, and Rukia’s eyes open, deep amethyst in the low light.A man in a black kimono stands before her, hair bright as an orange sunset, amber eyes gleaming as they look into hers. One hand is clasped to his side, and blood wells around his fingers. “That was beautiful,” he tells her, and falls.
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 22
Kudos: 100





	The Miko of the Forest Shrine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shinigami_Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinigami_Mine/gifts).



> This was inspired by an edit from IchiRuki Month, found [here.](https://rukiadriedhisrain.tumblr.com/post/627339592603942912/ichirukimonth-day-21-supernatural-kitsune)

The soft fabric of Rukia’s scarlet hakama swishes softly as she moves, and the long sleeves of her white silk chihaya move with it. Her steps are slow but certain as she dances, a golden-hued _kagura suzu_ chiming in her right hand as she twirls and stops, then begins again. In the silence of the shrine there is no music to guide her, but her feet follow the pattern unerringly, growing faster through the sequence. Bells chime as she moves, arms raised above her head and lowering, white fabric trailing behind her as she spins and then stops, bells shaking once more.

Her eyes close as the dance ends, and she bows low. 

There is a sound in the shrine, a scrape of sandal against stone, and Rukia’s eyes open, deep amethyst in the low light.

A man in a black kimono stands before her, hair bright as an orange sunset, amber eyes gleaming as they look into hers. One hand is clasped to his side, and blood wells around his fingers. “That was beautiful,” he tells her, and falls.

Rukia sets her kagura suzu down and hurries down the three steps of the shrine’s porch to the fallen man. His eyes are shut but his mouth is set in a thin line. She pulls her chihaya from her shoulders and wraps it tightly around his waist; the pristine fabric quickly stains red with blood. “Wake up,” she orders, and lightly taps his face with her fingertips.

He groans in pain and his eyes drift open.

“I need to carry you inside,” Rukia explains. “I need you to help me do that.” She gets her shoulders beneath his left arm and, as he gasps in pain again, he struggles up with her help, body heavy against hers. She gets her arm around his waist and helps him not into the shrine but to a small cottage one hundred feet away. He is nearly unconscious again and deadweight on her smaller frame by the time they are inside, and Rukia lays him on the bed.

There are a few embers still smoldering in her hearth and she fans them, adding slivers of wood and then larger pieces until the fire is going. Over that she hangs a pot filled with water. There are needles and thread for sutures in her cupboard, as well as two rolls of bandages and a bottle of dark green liquid, and she grabs those, along with clean cloths. She adds willow bark to a small gauze sachet and tosses it into a mug.

“I am going to clean your wound,” she says when she is back by his bedside, and he groans softly. Rukia gently unwraps the chihaya and then unties the thin obi holding his kimono shut. She pulls it open to the waist and, using one of the cloths, begins to dab at the wound. He hisses at her in pain, the sound strangely vulpine, but Rukia lays a hand against his shoulder to steady him and continues on. There is a slight glow about him and he is wearing an unusual amulet around his neck, she notices, but his injury commands her full attention and she returns to it quickly.

The wound is large, although not as deep as she feared, and her expression darkens at the sight of it. The water over the fire is boiling, and she pours a little into the mug to let the willow bark steep. Then she dips a second cloth into the water and lets it sit for a moment before pulling it back out and waving it to cool it slightly. She cleans the wound a second time. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “This is going to hurt.”

“I know,” he growls. Rukia pours green liquid – a mixture of thyme oil and mugwort, as well as other antiseptic herbs – onto yet another clean cloth dipped in the boiling water. When she carefully wipes it over his skin he arches up off the bed, screams held behind his mouth by tight-fastened lips.

She pours cold water into the willow bark tisane and helps him lean up a little so that he can drink. “Here, this will help with the pain.”

Finally, she douses the needle and suturing thread with the green liquid and rinses them in water. Rukia threads the needle with steady hands. “Do you want something to bite down on?” she asks. She gets a headshake in return and so she begins stitching.

It’s a long process: the wound is from the top of his hip nearly to the top of his ribcage, and her stitches are steady but small and even. Her patient is largely quiet despite the pain he must be feeling. At some point his hand drops to her shoulder and squeezes, hard, staining her kosode with blood.

She cleans the stitched-up wound again when she is done and then wraps bandaging around his waist. “Rest,” she says, as she begins to gather her supplies back up. “I’ll find something clean for you to wear.”

His eyes drift shut and soon his breathing is slow and even in the quiet cabin. Rukia cleans up first her supplies and then herself, drawing more clean, cold water from the well just outside the cottage to wash up and soak her bloodied kosode and chihaya. She pulls on a clean kosode and leaves the cottage to tidy the shrine.

When the man wakes several hours later, there is soup bubbling in a pot on the hearth, as well as tea kettle hanging from a fireplace crane. Rukia looks over at him as he sits up, kimono hanging from one arm and body bared to the waist. “How are you feeling?” she asks quietly.

His eyes snap to hers. “You’re stronger than I gave you credit for.”

It’s a compliment, but there is a mischievous tone in his words and Rukia’s hackles go up. “What does _that_ mean?”

“Didn’t expect you to be able to carry me in here and stitch me up without flinching. You’re such a tiny thing for a miko.”

Rukia sniffs contemptuously. “I have seen far worse.” She ladles soup into a bowl and brings it to him, along with a large spoon. “You need to eat something.”

There is a spark when their hands touch as he takes the bowl from her. “This shrine was once known for having many miko who could heal.” His eyes meet hers, dark amber to her amethyst. “I saw only you performing a _kagura_ , earlier.”

Rukia shrugs and returns to the hearth to pour tea into a heavy ceramic mug. “I am the only miko who cares for this shrine now.”

An odd expression plays over his lips, but he begins to eat the soup, spooning broth and vegetables into his mouth. “And your kannushi? Where are they?”

Rukia’s lips purse, and she takes a long sip of tea before answering. “He died after a long sickness last summer. There is another coming from the capital, eventually.” She glances at him. “What is your name, traveler? And why do you want to know about the caretakers of this shrine?”

“Kurosaki Ichigo,” he says. “And I was just curious. Don’t worry, miko – I don’t forget a debt,” he adds cryptically.

She raises an eyebrow. “It is my duty to care for the kami who is honored here, and to care for the sick who find their way to this shrine.” But she is careful not to absolve him from his debt – the amulet on his neck is pricking at her memory. “And it’s Kuchiki Rukia.”

“Hn. A good name for a miko,” Ichigo muses. His spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl and Rukia reaches for it and fills it a second time.

Rukia busies herself with filling a second bowl with soup and beginning to eat. “How were you injured?” she asks quietly.

The expression on Ichigo’s face is part angry, part chagrined. “I was mistaken for a deer by a half-blind hunter,” he grumbles.

Something about that doesn’t quite ring true, but Rukia doesn’t ask for clarification. Instead she lets silence fall between them for a time. When his bowl is empty, she fills it a third time, and fills a second mug with tea for him. “You should stay here for the night,” she suggests. “I’d like to take another look at your wound in the morning.”

“Hn. Do I look so weak to you?” he asks, but there is something speculative in his eyes.

“Fool,” Rukia calls him. “A wound like that would have felled some men, and it could still kill you, if it gets infected. I left out a sleeping yukata, and I’ll find clothes for you to wear tomorrow.” She points at a folded white yukata at the end of the bed.

When she returns from washing up the bowls and pot from dinner Ichigo is standing as he ties the yukata around himself. It’s a little too small, hanging open at the chest and revealing both firm muscles and white bandages. It reveals an indecent amount of leg as well, and Rukia flushes before looking away from him. She focuses on stripping the bed of its soiled linens.

Rukia piles them – and his damaged kimono – in a basket in the corner and returns with clean linens that she uses to make the narrow bed while he watches her in silence. “There. You should lie back down,” she advises. “You lost quite a lot of blood.”

Ichigo folds his arms and looks her over. “And where are you going to sleep?” he asks.

“I have a spare futon,” she says easily.

“I thought your kannushi only died this past summer,” Ichigo says. “Aren’t there other buildings one of us could sleep in, rather than the floor?”

Rukia shakes her head. “This was the kannushi’s cottage. I slept on the floor of the shrine before he died.” At Ichigo’s stern expression, she shrugs. “It couldn’t be helped. The building where the other miko used to stay was destroyed by a storm, and Ukitake-sama was too frail to rebuild it.”

“Couldn’t men from the nearest village help?” Ichigo asks.

“We asked, and sent word to the capital as well. Help has not yet arrived.”

The expression on Ichigo’s face is thunderous, but he nods shortly. “I see. Thank you again for your hospitality, Rukia.”

“You look angry,” she observes.

“Hn. Your elders should have sent additional miko and a new kannushi right away, instead of leaving you here by yourself,” he says sharply. “Not everyone respects the kami you serve.”

She raises an eyebrow at him but nods briefly and busies herself with pulling her spare futon and pillow from its place in the closet. “The necessary is twenty feet behind the cottage if you need it during the night,” Rukia tells him. “If you don’t think you can get there on your own, just wake me.”

“I’ll be fine,” he rumbles.

They settle in for the night after Rukia banks the fire, and despite the presence of a strange man in her home, she sleeps deeply. There is something _safe_ and even familiar about him, she decides, just before she drops off. She doesn’t see the way he looks at her for a long time as she sleeps, fingers touching his amulet thoughtfully.

In the morning, Rukia wakes early and builds up the fire again, cooking porridge and dressing in another clean uniform. “The kimono and hakama are for you; they’re not as nice as yours, but they’re clean,” she says when Ichigo wakes. “Come have breakfast and I’ll check your wound afterwards.”

“Thank you.” He sits at the table this time, still in the white yukata, and Rukia brings him porridge and sits across from him. The table is small and her knees almost bump against him despite her small frame; he is nearly a foot taller than her and just plain _bigger_.

“Where is the damaged building?” Ichigo asks when they are done eating and are sipping tea again from large mugs.

“On the other side of the shrine,” Rukia says, and looks up at him. “Why do you ask?”

“I’d like to take a look at it. Maybe I can repair it for you.” He scowls when she laughs. “What?”

“You’re _injured_ , severely, and the building was destroyed,” Rukia explains. “I appreciate the offer, but maybe the capital will send help with the new kannushi. And until then, this cottage is enough for me.”

Ichigo grunts but finishes the rest of his tea and brings the bowls over to the small basin in the kitchen area without being asked. The sounds of dishes being washed fill the air as Rukia finishes her tea with some bemusement.

When Rukia has finished her tea, she stands and washes her own mug. “Shall we?” she asks, and Ichigo lies down on the bed on his good side, yukata undone. She unwraps the bandages and frowns thoughtfully. “This is healing faster than I expected – you’re very lucky.” She washes the wound with more of the thyme and mugwort blend and binds it with fresh bandages.

Ichigo rises from the bed and grabs for the kimono and hakama. He changes without shame and Rukia catches another glimpse of strong muscles and firm thighs as she turns away to give him some modicum of privacy.

When he is fully dressed and once again wearing his own tabi socks and geta, Rukia looks him over. “Well, that’s a bit better than the yukata anyway,” she comments. “I have duties to attend to, but you are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Hn. Show me that building, little miko,” he orders.

Both the order and the word _little_ chafe, but Rukia waves a hand and he follows her from the cottage, around the back of the shrine, and to a pile of smashed wood, plaster, and thatching. Moss is beginning to grow on the uneven surfaces and dead leaves and other detritus form a mass over the ruined structure. Ichigo stares at it, and then at her as Rukia shrugs. “I did tell you that it was destroyed,” she points out, and turns toward the shrine.

Ichigo follows her again and watches as she completes a short ritual cleansing before entering the shrine. He does the same, washing his hands and mouth out with water that bubbles up from a natural spring just before the entrance of the shrine. He watches as Rukia sweeps the stone walkway of debris, as she prays and makes offerings to the kami. When Rukia opens her eyes after completing her prayer she arches an eyebrow at him.

“You’re a powerful miko,” Ichigo says quietly. And Rukia doesn’t quite know what to make of that, so she says nothing.

He stays out of the way as she goes about her duties, and eventually he steps outside of the shrine. At first Rukia thinks he has left, but when the sun begins to set and she leaves the shrine to go back to her cottage he is sitting on the porch. “I brought some things for dinner,” he says, and there is a woven reed bag full of fresh vegetables and onigiri next to him.

Rukia blinks. “Where did you get these? We’re an hour from Miyawara.”

He just grins at her. But despite his injury, Ichigo is helpful, peeling and chopping vegetables while Rukia gets the fire going again. She cooks the vegetables in a pan over the fire and they eat them with the onigiri. “Really, _where_ did you find these? They’re the best I’ve ever had,” Rukia exclaims.

“Don’t worry, I can get more,” he says.

After dinner Rukia checks his wound again and changes the bandages. This time when he changes into his sleeping yukata she blushes and hurries to dispose of the soiled bandages. She sneaks another look at him under the pretense of checking the fire and turns bright red when he chuckles.

“I wasn’t looking!” she exclaims.

“Of course you weren’t,” Ichigo says easily. “It’s still early – do you want to play a game?”

“A game? I…think I have Ukitake-sama’s old shogi set,” Rukia murmurs. She has to dig through a cupboard for the board and pieces, but soon enough they are at the table again, moving the small tiles across the board.

Ichigo wins the first two games and Rukia takes the third, at which point they are both stifling yawns. “You play well,” he says, and offers a hand to help her up.

She swears she feels another spark when their hands touch again, and Ichigo’s eyes are soft as they look into hers. But all she says is, “Thank you. We should get some sleep.”

Once again he takes the bed and she the futon, and when she opens her eyes again it is dawn.

Ichigo spends two more days on the shrine grounds, although Rukia suspects he feels better than he is telling her. He helps her carry water for washing the linens and his damaged kimono. He forages in the forest for wood, filling the woodpile near the cottage with pieces of wood small enough for her to carry. And he brings more vegetables and _onigiri_ from – somewhere – for them to eat.

“How long have you been here by yourself?” he asks that evening, when the remains of dinner are cleared away and firelight is all that illuminates their faces as she sews the tear in his kimono.

“The kannushi died last summer but he was near-comatose with illness for a year before that,” Rukia admits. “I sent a messenger to the capital for help, as he was beyond my ability to heal. The last of the other miko left this shrine two years ago.”

Ichigo scowls at the fire. “And you received no word from your elders?”

She shakes her head. “Not until I sent a messenger saying that he’d died.”

His scowl is even deeper but when he turns to look at her, his eyes are soft. “They should not have left you alone here.”

“I’m fine,” she claims. “People come here to worship the kami and seek its counsel often enough, and this shrine is known as a place of healing. I have enough to eat and a purpose.”

“Hn.” He is quiet after that, and in the morning Ichigo dresses in his repaired kimono and bows to her in farewell. “I won’t forget your hospitality,” he tells her.

“Take care to keep your wound clean,” Rukia advises quietly.

Their eyes meet once more before he walks into the forest.

She dreams of him, the next three nights: of gleaming amber eyes and sunset hair. There is a hint of something otherworldly about him as he looks at her in the dreams and tells her, each of those nights, _I won’t forget. I will come back to you._ Rukia quickly returns to her mostly solitary routine despite the dreams. After all, there are other patients who come to the shrine, seeking her care, and supplicants travel to the shrine periodically, seeking blessings and divination.

Towards the end of the season, the new kannushi arrives, and everything changes.

* * *

A full season passes before Ichigo returns to the shrine of the little miko. His wound is fully healed, leaving only the thinnest trace of a scar. He hadn’t meant to leave it for so long, but as a _zenko_ and follower of Inari he has had other duties to tend to. The strong, _powerful_ little miko intrigues him, he admits to himself; and he owes her a debt.

The smell of the shrine is _wrong_ when he enters the clearing in which it lies. There is something sinister that wasn’t there before. Ichigo ducks back out of sight and sniffs again, twice. _Nothing for it_ , he thinks. With another thought and a hand on his amulet he _changes_ , shrinking in on himself. Russet fur shivers into being over him as his head shrinks and his face lengthens, growing a vulpine snout. Four tails sprout and sway in the air.

On silent paws he sneaks onto the grounds once more. His nose is three times as sensitive in this form as it is in the human guise he wears, and Ichigo can smell more fully the sinister, masculine odor that wasn’t present a few months ago. The outbuilding still hasn’t been repaired, he sees. The shrine itself looks the same, and he sniffs around the perimeter of the building. Rukia’s scent is still there and there is a thread of wrongness in that as well – but different. There is no _evil_ in her, but _fear_ , instead. It makes his hackles rise.

Ichigo darts across the clearing to the cottage to investigate that as well; Rukia’s scent is nearly gone from it, but the sinister smell is even stronger, and he thinks, _Can it be the kannushi?_ He sneezes to clear his nose of the unpleasant odor and darts back to the shrine. He lies in wait, and eventually his patience is rewarded: a supplicant in a dark blue kimono appears and steps into the shrine. A few minutes later Rukia steps outside, bearing her bells and wearing the chihaya of ceremony.

She looks tired, he thinks, and a little thinner. But her bearing is straight, and she gestures to the supplicant. “Tell me what it is you seek,” she says as the man sits on a low bench at the end of the porch.

“I seek to know whether I am making the right choice of a wife,” he says, and Ichigo sniffs. There is no scent of dishonesty to him, but it seems an odd, simplistic question to ask a kami.

But Rukia doesn’t seem to think so: she raises her kagura suzu and begins her slow, deliberate dance. Almost immediately Ichigo’s fur stands on end: he was right. Rukia is _powerful_. As she steps forward and back, raising her bells and ringing them with a twist of her wrist at the end of each step, power gathers in the air and rushes into her.

The voice that leaves her mouth is deeper and a little distorted. “ **The woman you tie yourself to will come into wealth unimaginable to you. But she will offer you less than true coin unless you offer a tithing of that wealth.”**

If Ichigo still had eyebrows, they would be arched. The advice is unlike any he’s heard a kami give before. He sniffs again and realizes that the power flowing into Rukia is – corrupted somehow. It doesn’t smell like a _kami_ – it smells like an evil spirit. _Did I misjudge her?_ he asks himself. But he sniffs again – _No. The power is coming from…someone else_.

Still, he stays hidden, waiting for some other evidence. Eventually the power leaves her and drifts back inside the shrine. And Ichigo thinks, _Something terrible is happening here._

Rukia comes back to herself slowly and she looks uneasy even as she lowers her bells and bows. “Have you found the guidance you sought?” she asks in the pleasant alto of her normal voice.

The supplicant rises and bows to her. “I have, Miko-san,” he says respectfully. “We will make a tithe when the time comes.”

Still uneasy and puzzled, Rukia bows briefly to him and watches as he leaves.

“That was well done.” The deep voice raises Ichigo’s hackles when he hears it, and he watches silently, doing everything he can to suppress his power, as a tall man in the robes of a kannushi steps onto the porch. “You are a talented miko, Kuchiki-san.”

“Thank you, Aizen-sama,” Rukia says quietly. “Though lately the power of the kami feels…different.”

Aizen nods sagely. “As you grow more skilled, you are taking more of its power into yourself.” Ichigo can smell the lie in the words.

She bows in agreement, and the kannushi vanishes back into the shrine.

Ichigo watches the shrine for three nights. True to Rukia’s words from their days spent together, as the sun sinks below the horizon the kannushi retires to the cottage. In the darkness Ichigo creeps up the steps and looks into the open doorway of the shrine; Rukia is laying out a futon just inside the door. He watches as she sketches something on the ground and power fills his senses again. _Now that’s interesting_ , he thinks. Whatever she is doing doesn’t smell of the corruption from earlier, and he heaves a silent sigh of relief that she is not its source.

The next morning, he watches her rise and prepare for the day. She carefully avoids the kannushi for as long as possible, he sees, and silently praises her good instincts. But it quickly becomes clear that part of the reason she is thinner is that she is eating very little – her breakfast is just a small serving of raw vegetables. Ichigo has to stifle a growl at the vast difference between how she was living just a single season past and this diminished state.

Rukia sweeps the path to the shrine of the leaves and debris that have fallen overnight. There is a small garden behind the shrine now, he sees, and she quietly tends to that for some time, weeding and picking the vegetables that are ready for eating. She keeps a few of those, but the rest are left in a basket outside of the cottage.

There are more supplicants as the day passes, and Ichigo watches in silence as Rukia enters the trance state no less than four times in a single day. _This is too many_ , he thinks, and stifles his sneezes as the corrupted power irritates him. She looks more and more listless as the day continues.

Late in the day, the kannushi comes to the shrine. He is garbed in a cream-colored kimono patterned with blossoms of a flower Ichigo does not recognize. There is a supplicant waiting, and as Ichigo watches the kannushi performs a blessing. But – there is a shifting of _power_ again, and this _Aizen_ pulls some of the lifeforce from the supplicant, leaving the man drained and staggering out of the clearing.

Ichigo’s rage increases, and he digs his claws into the ground beneath him to stop himself from attacking the false priest.

“You have done very well to complete four divination sessions in a single day, Rukia,” Aizen praises her when the young woman comes outside and stands on the porch beside him.

“Thank you, Aizen-sama,” Rukia murmurs quietly.

“You are growing stronger. Soon you will be ready to engage in the sacred rites and bear a child for the kami.”

The words burn a lie in Ichigo’s nose, and he stifles the urge to sneeze it out. It takes everything he has in him not to turn human and grab Rukia away from this place immediately. There are rites, already long abandoned, that follow what this _Aizen_ is alluding to, and Ichigo knows immediately what the kannushi is planning.

“If that is the kami’s wish,” Rukia says, but her fear is pungent in Ichigo’s nose.

In the dead of night, he creeps to the cottage in which the kannushi is staying. _Arrogant_ , he thinks as he reaches the door. There are no spells of protection, nothing to ward off evil. Ichigo slips inside silently. Here, the corruption is thick even though the kannushi sleeps. Still in fox form, Ichigo systematically shreds every kimono the priest owns and steals every morsel of food in the cottage. He creates instead the illusion of food over the kannushi’s shredded fabric. _I hope he chokes on it,_ he thinks. He hides the food in the forest, marking the area with his scent before he runs back to the clearing.

His next stop is the shrine once more. Rukia is asleep; Ichigo curls his body behind her head and hisses blessings of power and protection over her. He runs away before dawn comes, seeking out the village that sent no help to the little miko, and steals some of the onigiri that she liked so much. He returns bearing several of them in a bamboo wrapping held between his teeth. He leaves the food by Rukia’s futon and conceals himself.

When Rukia wakes and sees the onigiri, she looks around wildly for a moment. There are tears in her eyes as she eats them, and Ichigo curls in on himself so that he does not reveal himself so soon. It hurts, to watch and be unable to comfort her – but he hopes she understands what the present means. He lies in wait the rest of the day, plotting. It’s not something he’s good at; his plan still amounts to, _wait until dark and carry the miko from this place_. It isn’t enough – the kannushi is stealing the lifeforce of people who seek the blessings of the kami, and Ichigo can’t let that go unchallenged.

He watches the kannushi for a third day and has to stifle his laughter when the man has to use the necessary several times and stays away from Rukia for most of the day. But early in the evening he enters the shrine, and when he leaves Rukia is pale and shaking. Ichigo sleeps behind her pillow again, blanketing her in magic so thick he is surprised she doesn’t wake. He leaves more onigiri for her in the morning, and then slips into the forest.

Ichigo finds a tiny shrine to Inari, hidden in the trees. There, he summons his power and seeks the deity’s guidance. _This shrine is being corrupted and the kami within is under threat,_ he prays. _The devout miko who tends to it is being used and has no other to aid her. I owe her a debt for her healing and hospitality. And I think she—_ He doesn’t finish the thought. It feels too early to say it.

He waits as the sun goes down, and the forest grows dark around him. The kannushi stays late in the shrine and leaves after dark for his cottage. Eventually, Ichigo receives an answer. **_Do what you must_** , he hears. There is a hint of mischief, **_She is pretty, this miko you owe_**.

Ichigo is grateful that foxes cannot blush. He ducks his head to mimic a bow and slips back toward the shrine. He transforms into a human just as his feet touch the porch steps and, clad in a black kimono and fox-patterned obi, he steps into the shrine.

There is a single low lantern burning and Rukia is on a futon, arms wrapped around her legs. She is in only a sleep yukata and even in this form he can scent her fear. “Rukia,” he says quietly, and she stifles a scream behind her hand as she sees him before her eyes fill with relief and the suspicion of tears.

“I-Ichigo! What are you doing here?” she demands in a harsh whisper. “Supplicants aren’t allowed on the grounds after dark, if Aizen-sama sees you he’ll—”

Ichigo kneels by the futon. “I’m here to help you. There is something wrong with him,” he says quietly. “Don’t you sense it?”

Rukia ducks her head. “Yes,” she whispers. “But he is the kannushi assigned to this shrine, and I am just its miko. He has said that the kami wishes for me to…to bear a child, and that the sacred rite must happen tonight. If this is what the kami wishes of me…”

Ichigo’s hands curl into tight fists. “It isn’t,” he says harshly. “The power you are channeling isn’t the kami, it’s something that’s been corrupted by this Aizen. I won’t let it, or him, have you.” The last words are growled.

“How do you know any of this?” Rukia’s eyes are dark in the lanternlight as they meet his. “You’re just a-a traveler.”

Ichigo grins. “Not exactly. I told you that I owe you a debt, Rukia. And even if I didn’t…” He reaches closer and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, making her blush.

“Fool, if he is able to subdue the kami, he is much stronger than us both,” she whispers harshly.

Ichigo smirks. “He is not. Come dance for me,” Ichigo requests. “And you’ll see.”

Rukia blanches. “He’ll hear the _bells_.”

“Not if you use these.” From within the sleeve of his kimono he produces a pair of silver-hued fans.

“These – these are _Inari’s_ ,” she whispers. Her eyes dart to the amulet around his neck.

“Smart little miko,” he praises, and before she can yell at him again for calling her little, Ichigo taps her nose. “Dance for me. You’ll know the steps once you start.”

Rukia stands and reaches for her chihaya and hakama with a look at him. She dons them carefully, right over her yukata, and ties the belt of the hakama tightly. “The kami will be insulted that I am using these in this shrine,” she whispers.

“You’re chasing out an evil spirit,” Ichigo says with a shrug, and adds, “And your kami would want its last miko to protect herself.”

He hums a tune under his breath and Rukia’s bare feet move as though of their own will. She looks hard at him, but the expression in his amber eyes seems to reassure her. Her hands grasp the silver fans and open them confidently, swaying them first in one direction and then the other, creating a pattern of silver in the air. She twirls and steps, first slow and then faster as she moves through the dance.

Ichigo can feel the power gathering and after a moment he senses the corrupted kannushi approaching. Rukia feels it too, he can tell, and he hisses, “Keep dancing _.”_

Her eyes fill with fear, but she follows the order. Ichigo can feel it then: Inari’s presence, building in the tiny, rural shrine of the kami. Rukia’s eyes are glowing silver in the lantern light. Her eyes meet his again and he smiles.

“What is the meaning of this?” Aizen asks as he steps into the shrine. There is a large lantern in his hand and the light it casts shatters on the silver fans, casting shards of light throughout the space. “This is not part of the sacred rites and you—” He looks at Ichigo. “Who are you?”

Ichigo grins and says nothing as power blasts outwards from Rukia, shimmering silver through the small shrine. It tears at the illusion he wears and though he does not become a fox he can feel his tails sprouting behind him, four of them swaying bright russet. His ears shift and become pointed and furry, sticking up through his flame-bright hair.

“ _Kitsune_ ,” Aizen hisses.

His canines are sharp as he looks at Aizen. “I owe this miko a debt, and I won’t let you corrupt her the way you have done to yourself.”

“This miko is _mine_ ,” Aizen says smoothly. “Stop dancing, Rukia.”

But Ichigo just smirks. “You didn’t guard against me, or notice that for three times three nights I have slept in this place. This miko and this shrine are _my_ territory now, and whatever power you have brought here with you is not welcome.”

Rukia is staring at him even as she dances, and silver power covers every inch of the shrine: walls, ceiling, and floor. Ichigo can smell the corrupted power again, and he reaches for his own. Dark and heavy, it wraps around Aizen and holds fast as the kannushi screams. Together, Ichigo’s power and the silver that flows from Rukia push, shoving him out of the shrine and then, as Rukia dances forward and Ichigo follows, beyond the borders of the shrine. The silver power releases an instant before Ichigo’s does, and flows around the clearing, creating a barrier.

Aizen screams as Ichigo’s power shreds through him and withdraws.

“You are not welcome within the borders of this forest,” Ichigo tells him. “If you return, I will tear out your throat.” He turns, then, and catches Rukia as she collapses.

When Rukia wakes hours later Ichigo is kneeling by her side. “What…?” She stares at him. “You’re a kitsune.”

His canines are sharp as he grins at her. “I am.”

She looks around at the shrine, where glimmers of silver are slowly fading into the woodwork. “You did…something. The shrine feels different.”

“Ah – I tricked you, I’m afraid,” he says, and rubs the back of his neck. When Rukia glares at him, he hastens to add, “It was the only way to get rid of that corrupted kannushi. I needed you to dance and summon Inari’s powers, as they’re much stronger than the kami this shrine was dedicated to.”

“ _Was_ dedicated to,” Rukia says slowly.

“Well – it’s complicated,” Ichigo grumbles. “The kami isn’t gone, but this is also a shrine of Inari now. And uh…technically…” When her eyebrow raises at him, he says quickly, “Technically you’re now a miko of Inari as well and I…might have accidentally bound us.”

“You did _what_?” Her voice is low and dangerous.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Ichigo says quickly, and when Rukia glares at him he says defensively, “My magic recognized you, and wanted you.”

“Wanted me.”

His cheeks are hot and he’s sure he’s blushing. “Didn’t you feel it, the first time we met?” he asks, a little shyly. “I was drawn to this shrine, not just because I was hurt but because I could feel something pulling me.”

The expression on Rukia’s face softens. “I did, but…you left after only a few days. I thought it was my imagination when I dreamt of you for three nights.”

“Let me stay here a while,” he asks, and his hand rests over hers. “If it’s not right, I’ll go.”

“But didn’t you claim this as _your_ territory?”

Ichigo grins at her. “I did, but _you’re_ still the miko here and there’s no kannushi. You might decide to kick me out.”

Her cheeks heat. “That would be hasty of me,” Rukia admits. Then she covers a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Rest, little miko,” Ichigo urges. “We’re safe enough behind the barrier you created.” When she looks at him questioningly, he adds, “There’s a magic barrier around the whole clearing. I told you that you were powerful.”

Slowly her eyes close again, and Ichigo lays down on the floor beside her. He does not touch her, but his magic flows over them both.

She sleeps away another day before Rukia awakes completely refreshed. The shrine is empty when she rises from her futon, and she walks outside hesitantly, still in her rumpled hakama and chihaya. There is a fire going in a small pit at the edge of the clearing, and smoke fills the air as Ichigo stands near it.

“Ichigo?” she asks when she gets close enough. “What are you doing?”

He scowls at the fire pit. “I’m burning everything that kannushi touched or brought with him, in case it was corrupted too. The cottage is empty, but I think you should cleanse it before you move back in. I burned the old outbuilding wreckage too, so that we can have someone rebuild.”

Rukia blinks at him. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A day and a half?” Ichigo guesses. “Inari helped, but you expended a _lot_ of power.”

“Thank you for doing this,” she says quietly.

And Ichigo thinks, _I couldn’t let my life-mate suffer as you were suffering under Aizen, or do what he wanted to demand of you_. The words stay tight behind his teeth, though, and all he says is, “I told you that I wanted to help.”

Soon enough the cottage is cleansed and _cleaned_ , too, from ceiling to floor. For the first few nights they sleep on futons to either side of the hearth, until Ichigo travels beyond the barrier and along the dirt road through the forest. Hours later he returns with a horse, a cart, and _furniture_.

The bed is twice the size of the old one, and the mattress twice as plush. “You’re quite confident,” Rukia says as she helps him rest the featherbed on the wooden platform.

Ichigo just blushes to the roots of his hair, mumbling something about a wealthy man who wanted to support the shrine, and brings in a low table and a pair of plush cushions. There are new linens and soft pillows, and pots, too, and a trivet to lay over the fire so that a pan can be placed and left there. There is fodder for the horse. Finally, there are bags of rice and other grains, and even some fish.

“Where did all of this _come_ from?” she asks when the rice is stored and the horse is eating happily. “And – what are we going to do with a _horse_?”

He decides that he rather likes that she is already saying _we_ , and tells her, “Miyawara is easier to get to with a horse. I’ll be bringing supplies and men tomorrow to build a shelter for the horse and cart.”

It is as he says: in the morning Ichigo leaves early and returns with four strong men and a pile of wood and thatching. In a single day they build the shelter that Ichigo described, and when Rukia performs a blessing on them the power she wields is clean and comforting, free of whatever corruption Aizen brought with him.

“Do you want a kannushi here, or other miko?” Ichigo asks when he has been staying with her for a week, sleeping on the futon that used to be hers. “You have all of the skill and training you need to care for the people who come here.”

Rukia hums under her breath as she sips her tea. A new shogi game is between them on the table, and she moves a piece as she thinks. “Eventually I may want to train a girl from one of the villages,” she says finally. “Even with Inari’s influence this shrine is a small one, and you are right: I can care for anyone who comes to stay here.”

Ichigo moves a piece of his own. “Then eventually you’ll need a bigger cottage or another building,” he decides.

“Which you’ll arrange, I imagine?” Rukia asks, amusement in her voice.

He grins. “Kitsune are resourceful,” he acknowledges. “And isn’t it better that you haven’t had to touch the shrine’s reserves?”

She sighs and explains, “The reserves are gone. I spent them trying to find a medicine that would save Ukitake-sama.”

Ichigo’s hand touches hers lightly. “I’m sorry.”

Rukia stands and collects their mugs. “There will be donations to make up for it,” she assures him. And then, without thinking, she reaches out and rubs one of his soft, furry ears.

Ichigo’s cheeks flush brightly but he doesn’t pull away until Rukia’s hand draws back. She’s as red as he is. “It’s alright,” he says quietly. When her brow furrows slightly he adds, “It’s alright if you want to touch me.”

“Is it?” Her hand reaches back out tentatively, and he leans into her, a low rumbling noise leaving him as Rukia strokes and scratches his ear again.

Eventually his hand reaches up and pulls hers away, but before Rukia can apologize he smiles up at her. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, and watches as her cheeks flood with red again.

“Yes.” Her voice is soft but there’s no hesitation in it, and Ichigo draws her closer, lips finding hers. His first kiss is soft and as gentle as he can make it, mouth moving against hers as one arm slides around her slender waist.

Rukia is utterly responsive to him, leaning closer as he pulls her and her lips moving against his in kind. When his hand squeezes her hip gently she gasps, and Ichigo takes advantage, licking into her mouth and savoring the soft, sweet moan that leaves her lips. All too soon he pulls back, but keeps his arm around her waist, keeps her close to him.

“I liked that,” Rukia whispers, and Ichigo grins against her lips.

“Did you?”

“Don’t _tease_ , Ichigo,” she says, and he leans in to kiss her again.

They stay like that for a long time, his arm keeping her close and their mouths brushing against one another. Eventually the fire dies down and Rukia whispers, “We should sleep. It’s late.”

Ichigo changes into a yukata and turns his back to give Rukia privacy, but when he reaches for his futon she offers, “The bed is big enough for two.” It shocks him so much that his jaw drops open, and she hastens to add, “Just – just to sleep.”

It’s both not enough and nearly too much, Ichigo thinks when they are lying in bed a few minutes later, his body spooning against hers. She is soft and warm against him beneath the covers, and Ichigo frantically orders his body to control itself as he tucks her close to him. He falls asleep like that, body curved around hers, and wakes when she rises to tend to the shrine.

Her cheeks are pink when they look at one another, but Rukia tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and smiles shyly at him. So early in the morning, even just a smile nearly undoes him, and he pulls her back into the bed, mouth covering hers.

“I need to take care of the shrine,” Rukia murmurs against his mouth, though one hand clutches his yukata and the other finds the back of his neck, keeping him close.

“I know,” he says, and nips lightly at her bottom lip. He keeps his hands gentle, and when she pulls away a second time he lets her go, although he can feel her reluctance. “I’ll make breakfast,” he offers, and receives a smile in return.

Ichigo keeps himself busy as Rukia goes about her morning tasks: he tends the horse and maps out additional space for the garden. There are seeds from his last trip to Miyawara – the people there are swiftly becoming far more helpful – and he plants them as best he can and pulls weeds from between the plants already growing.

The torii gate at the entrance to the shrine is worn and weathered, with paint cracking and flaking off. When Rukia steps out of the shrine late in the afternoon, Ichigo is bare to the waist under the hot sun. Flakes and flecks of paint litter the ground around him, and he is painting the wooden gate with a coat of scarlet paint.

“Thank you – that was much overdue,” she says, and Ichigo looks down from his perch on a ladder found behind the shrine. Rukia’s cheeks are flushed as she looks at him.

“I can see why. You’re so short you wouldn’t have been able to reach the top,” he teases, and climbs down from the ladder. “Ow!” Rukia’s foot meets his shin before he can dodge, and he drops the paint brush on the grass as he loops an arm around her and tugs her close, against his bare chest. “No kicking, little miko.”

“Well you keep calling me _little_ ,” she complains, and wrinkles her nose when he kisses the tip of it.

“It’s in my nature to tease,” he reminds her, and nips lightly at her lower lip. “But you’re the perfect size for me.” Her cheeks flare pink at the words, and they kiss next to the half-painted gate.

“I need to start making dinner,” she says when they part, cheeks flushed and a little out of breath.

“Hn. Alright. I’ll finish this and clean up.” Ichigo’s mouth covers hers again before he can stop himself, but eventually Rukia walks back to the cottage, lips kiss-swollen and curved in a shy smile.

He has to clean grass off the paint brush before he can continue, but Ichigo finishes repainting the gate as quickly and neatly as he can. It’s dusk when he finishes and puts the last of the paint away, leaving the brush to soak.

Ichigo washes up with water from the nearby well, and when he walks into the cottage the scents of cooking vegetables and rice fills the air. Water drips down his still-bare chest and shoulders. Rukia is already in a plain yukata, and when she looks up at his entrance, she fumbles the wooden paddle she is using to stir the vegetables and nearly drops it in the fire.

He smiles and brushes his hand over her shoulder as he passes by her. He hears the paddle clatter against the pan again as he gets chopsticks and bowls from the cupboard and mugs for tea. Ichigo just sets everything on the low table and silently brings in more water to wash the tools Rukia used to prepare their meal.

The scraping of the paddle stops, and when Ichigo turns around again Rukia is carrying their bowls, filled with rice and cooked carrots, mushrooms, and other vegetables, to the table. “Are you going to put a proper yukata on?” she asks, and Ichigo shrugs.

“After dinner, unless I’m offending you?” He takes the tea kettle from the fire and pours the hot liquid into each of their mugs.

Rukia’s cheeks darken in a blush as Ichigo lowers himself onto the cushion across from her, sitting cross-legged. “No,” she squeaks.

“Itadakimasu,” they both say, and Ichigo adds, “Thank you for cooking,” as they start to eat.

She nearly drops her chopsticks twice during the meal, once when Ichigo leans forward to refill their mugs and the second time when a droplet of tea escapes and runs down his chin and neck. Ichigo hides his smiles behind his mug.

“The gate should be dry by morning,” he says quietly. “I’ll see if it needs a second coat of paint.”

“Hn. Will you be alright by yourself tomorrow morning?” Rukia asks. “I need to replenish my supply of medicinal plants, and some of them grow only in the forest.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll look over the shrine and see if it needs any other repairs.” Ichigo takes another sip of his tea.

She nods briefly. “If someone comes seeking divination or a blessing, they’ll have to come back another day or wait,” she warns.

“It’s fine, Rukia. Don’t worry – I’ll keep any eye out for anyone who wants to do more than pray,” he promises.

When they finish dinner, he collects their dirtied dishes and pots, washing them while Rukia banks the fire again and lights a lantern to ward off the dark. “Do you want to play shogi again tonight?” she asks as Ichigo changes into his sleeping yukata.

“Hmm, do you want to?” Ichigo asks, and brushes her lips with his. Rukia leans up into him and he slides an arm around her loosely, pulling her close but not trapping her.

“You’re teasing me again,” she mumbles against his lips.

“It’s in my nature,” Ichigo says again, and slides his mouth down to trail a line of kisses from her neck to her shoulder.

“So – this is more of your teasing, then?” Rukia asks, and her voice sounds a little breathless. It makes him grin and nip gently at her skin.

“It doesn’t have to be. It’s your choice, Rukia.” When he pulls back to look at her, her pupils are wide in the lantern light and her cheeks are flushed pink.

“And this isn’t a trick?” she manages to press, though one hand is on the back of his neck, pulling him closer, while the other is resting on his bicep.

Ichigo laughs softly and pulls her against him. “I’m a _zenko_ ,” he reminds her. “I don’t play that sort of trick. And you’re—” He stops himself again and kisses her instead. “I’m not tricking you.”

She catches the hesitation and asks, “And I’m what?”

It’s his turn to feel his cheeks heat, and Ichigo says as his eyes meet hers, “You’re special to me, Rukia.”

“Then – don’t tease,” she whispers, and Ichigo pulls her ever closer, until they are pressed against one another.

“Have you ever done this before?” His lips find her neck again, and his fingers trace slow shapes on her back through the thin fabric of her yukata.

“Aa – no. You’re the only man I’ve ever kissed,” Rukia admits, but she leans up to press closer, and shifts to capture his lips with hers.

It draws a moan from deep in Ichigo’s chest and he backs them slowly toward the bed. “Slow, then. And if you want me to stop, just tell me,” he whispers as he sits on the edge and spreads his legs, encouraging her with gentle tugs to stand between them.

Her eyes meet his again and Rukia leans in further. Their kisses grow more passionate, more thorough, and the first time she moans for him Ichigo has to clutch at a handful of her yukata to keep himself under control. His mouth brushes down past her neck, down to her chest, and through the fabric he mouths at her breast, pulling another moan from the petite miko. “Can I take this off?” he asks quietly, and when Rukia hums her agreement he makes quick work of the tie around her waist. The fabric wrapped around her loosens and drops open, revealing small breasts and a slender waist.

Her hands clutch at his back to pull him closer when Ichigo finds a nipple with his mouth and worries at it, sucking and swiping his tongue over her skin until it hardens for him. “Slow,” he murmurs when Rukia presses closer to him.

“I want to see you, too,” she whispers, though her cheeks are bright.

Ichigo murmurs his agreement and his hands leave her so that he can undo the knot holding his own yukata together. She gasps when the fabric drapes open, and his cheeks heat.

Rukia’s mouth finds his again, and Ichigo holds her close to him as they kiss. When her hands leave him he opens his eyes, only to watch her yukata fall from around her body and drop to the wooden floor below. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and a shiver moves through his body. “Do you want more?” When she nods, he pulls her gently into the bed with him. He pulls his own yukata off and lets it fall.

True to his words, he moves slowly, hands stroking over her skin and finding her center only when Rukia is gasping for him. The lanternlight dims and fails, leaving them with only the light of the moon and stars coming in through a window and the banked fire. But even in the dark his fingers are unerring, finding her damp as his fingertips brush over her skin. She arches beneath his touch and Ichigo smiles down at her, watching her eyes as he strokes slowly, fingers finding the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

“Do you like that?” he asks as Rukia bucks into his hand and grabs for him. A grin flashes across his face and he keeps stroking. Her head falls back, eyes fluttering shut, and she worries at her lower lip as she nods tightly. “What about…this?” One finger slides so carefully inside of her, and as her inner walls cling to him Ichigo covers her lips with his.

Soon she is writhing against him, moans spilling from her lips like water. Ichigo swallows them all, free hand keeping her close to him and grounded even as Rukia bucks and shakes. “Th-that feels,” she whispers breathlessly, “That feels so good.”

“Do you want more?” He keeps rubbing, finger slowly thrusting as he does, and she shakes a little in his arms.

“Y-yes.” The word makes Ichigo grin and he kisses her once more before sliding his hand away. Its sudden absence makes Rukia lean up on her elbows in protest. “But I thought—”

“No tricks, I promise,” he says, and his lips slide down her skin. His kisses find her breasts and the skin over her heart and then drift lower, until he can kiss her center. He can feel her eyes on him, wide with shock, as he laps at her and slides two fingers inside of her, sliding through slick and tight, wet heat. He hums against her skin and it nearly sends Rukia off the bed with a loud cry. Ichigo just grins and keeps licking. She is sweet and musky, and so _soft_ beneath him. He looks up and sees her hands fisting in the sheets, and lifts his mouth from her long enough to say, “You can touch me, Rukia.”

One hand finds his hair and Ichigo grins against her hot skin. He feels the fluttering of her inner walls around him as she grows closer to her peak, and he closes his lips over that bud of nerves and sucks, fingers curling upwards. She falls apart beneath him with loud, breathy moans and her hips buck so strongly that Ichigo has to hold her down to lick her through it, and when her hips fall back to the bed of their own accord he leans back to look at her, panting and wrecked on their bed.

When she reaches for him Ichigo falls into her arms, holding her close to him as she shivers against his skin. “That – I didn’t know it felt like _that_ ,” Rukia whispers to him, as Ichigo kisses her again.

“It can feel even better if you want,” he murmurs, and she moves against him, skin brushing against his hard length.

“Can it?”

“Mmn. Do you want me to show you?” He arches against her, and a broken gasp leaves his mouth when her hand, smaller than his, wraps around his length. “Or-or you could do that,” he manages.

“I want you to enjoy this too,” Rukia murmurs into his mouth, and her hand sends sparks of pleasure through him as she strokes up and down, first lightly and then more firmly. Ichigo gathers her closer and stifles his moans on her lips as her callused but soft hand drags along the most sensitive part of his body. Soon the sparks are nearly a fire and he can feel his hold on his human form slipping.

“Wait, wait,” he whispers, and gently pulls her hand from him. “I want to be inside of you. Will you let me make love to you?”

There is nervousness in her eyes when they meet his, and a flush that spreads down her chest, but Rukia nods softly. “I- I want you inside me, Ichigo.”

His lips cover hers again and again as his hand trails back down her body. “Let me take care of you,” he tells her, and his fingertips rub again, surprising a moan from her. His fingers slide inside of her once again, thrusting until she is shaking in his arms, and when they leave her, he grabs her hip, leaving her own slick on her skin. “Like this,” he murmurs, and turns them so that she is on her back and he is between her legs.

“Please,” she whispers softly, and her hips arch upward so that her center is brushing against his length. It nearly undoes him, but he tucks her closer. When her arms come up to wrap around him, hands finding his shoulders, Ichigo’s hand strokes along her leg and he captures her lips with his.

Ichigo swallows the cry she lets out when he sinks into her, and his arm slides around her back to hold her close until her body relaxes against his. “Move with me,” he whispers, and their bodies slide against one another, hips meeting and parting over and over again. She is so wet and so hot around him, so tight that it’s all he can do to hold back, to keep to the pace she sets. When her leg hooks around his hip he grins into her mouth and slides his hand between their legs, rubbing her again as Rukia moans into his mouth, as she shakes against him.

“I want…” she whispers beneath him, and Ichigo slows his thrusts to focus on her, though it makes him grit his teeth. They’re both panting, breaths heavy in the air between them, and Ichigo can feel her heart beating in time with his.

“Tell me what you want, Rukia,” he whispers against her neck, teeth scraping. “I’ll give you anything you want.” He looks back up, into her eyes, and grins at the half-dazed look in them.

“I want you to move faster,” she whispers back, cheeks red and lips swollen. “I…I want _more_ of you.”

The words send a shiver through him, and he grins at her again. “Hold onto me,” he tells her, and when her arms tighten Ichigo slides his arm from around her back down to her hip so that he can give himself more leverage to thrust, to tug her closer and sink as deep into her as he can, until there is no space between them.

Rukia’s moans are musical in his ears and he moves faster, thrusts shorter and shallower, angled to make her cry out for him as he rubs her with slick fingers. He can feel when she gets close to her peak a second time, can hear the change in her voice and the way she tightens around him. It makes him moan her name, the word rough on his lips, and he whispers lowly into her ear, telling her how much he wants her, how good he wants to make her feel.

When she falls apart in his arms, his name on her lips, he follows, their shared release spilling between them as they shake and shudder together, breathing labored and bodies sweat-slick. Ichigo pushes deeper into her, groaning her name and holding her tightly.

They stay like that, unmoving, for a long moment, until she squirms beneath him and Ichigo rolls, taking her with him, so that they are on their sides. The only noise in the cottage is their breathing, until Rukia raises her head to look up at him. He kisses her, long and slow in the darkness, and holds her until they both fall asleep.

* * *

When Rukia wakes in the morning she is still tangled with Ichigo, their bodies curled together and clinging. She aches in muscles she didn’t know she had, but when he wakes as well and kisses her, arms holding her tight to him, the soreness doesn’t matter so much. Rukia returns his kisses, their bodies languorous in the early dawn light, until she mumbles to him, “We have to get up.”

Ichigo groans and buries his face in her neck, but slowly he lets go so that she can get out of bed. There is something possessive in his smile when Rukia wobbles to her feet, and he follows to steady her. “I’ll get water,” he says, and touches his forehead to hers before pulling his yukata on and grabbing for the bucket.

Rukia pulls her own yukata on and gets the fire rebuilt while Ichigo is outside. She hangs her largest pot from the fireplace crane. Then she pulls a wooden basin from the small storage area at the back of the cottage and sets it up in front of the fire. When Ichigo steps back inside he pours the water into the pot and goes back outside for more. It takes two trips to fill the pot and he leaves an extra bucket of cold water by the basin.

“Would you like something heartier than porridge this morning?” Rukia asks as he strips the bed of the linens and bundles them into the basket in the corner. “One of the villagers brought eggs.”

“Yes, please,” Ichigo replies, and tests the water in the pot as he eyes the basin speculatively.

“I thought we both might want a more thorough bath,” Rukia mumbles, cheeks heating. Suddenly Ichigo is beside her, an arm sliding around her waist and tucking her close.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “If you’re too sore I can cook, or…”

Her eyes slip shut, and she leans into him. “I’m fine, Ichigo. I’m just…” His other arm comes up around her.

“Feeling shy?” Ichigo asks, and when she hums under her breath he rests his chin on her forehead. They stand like that until the water is boiling and droplets are hissing as they splatter onto the fire.

“You first. I’ll take care of the horse and get more water.”

With the cottage all to herself, Rukia takes her time, scrubbing every part of her skin and hair with soap and a rough cloth. When she feels fully clean, she stands and rinses herself with the extra bucket of water, then roughly dries herself and sits in front of the fire to dry her hair.

When Ichigo returns he bathes as well. There is no shyness to him, even with her right there, cheeks hot and a shy smile curling her lips. But then – she supposes there wouldn’t be, after last night. Her cheeks heat further at the thought and when Ichigo looks at her curiously and asks, “Why are you so red, little miko?”

She laughs and blames the heat from the fire.

“I’m a kitsune,” Ichigo reminds her. “I can smell your shyness.” His hand, wet from the wash water, reaches out for hers and grabs hold. “You have nothing to be shy of.”

“Ah – I know. It’s silly,” Rukia says, and smiles when his hand squeezes hers again.

Together they carry the basin outside to empty it, and then Rukia, still in a yukata, makes porridge and eggs. She notices something as she does: Ichigo is almost always touching her. A hand touches her hip as he reaches up to get bowls from the cupboard. There is one on her shoulder when he stops by the fire to carry away the bowl she beat the eggs in. His leg stretches out to touch hers as they sit at the table to eat.

After they break their fast, Rukia dresses in her white kosode and scarlet hakama. “I need to replenish my supplies,” she reminds him again as she gathers a large basket and a small, sharp knife.

“Hn.” There is something disgruntled in Ichigo’s expression, but he kisses her lightly. “Come back safe. I’ll keep an eye on the shrine,” he assures her. “And I’ll have a meal waiting for you.”

Pleased by his thoughtfulness, Rukia leans up to give him a second kiss, and walks past the repainted torii gate into the forest.

The forest is quiet save for bird calls and the rustle of a breeze through the leaves above, and Rukia goes about her work quietly and efficiently. There is the patch of mugwort to visit first, and she cuts fully half of it with her little knife to add to her basket. Wild thyme and feverfew grow further into the forest and Rukia hunts for those as well, filling her basket further with medicinal herbs. Mushrooms grow in the darker parts of the forest, and Rukia carefully checks and re-checks those that she finds, wrapping the particularly pungent fungi in pieces of cloth so that they do not contaminate her other finds.

Morning turns into early afternoon as she works, finding a second patch of mugwort to prune and bring cuttings from. As she walks back toward the shrine, the birds fall silent and Rukia looks up. Her hand darts back into her basket for the knife and she eases it from the basket.

“That won’t be of much use to you.”

Rukia turns, slowly. Aizen is standing only a few feet from her. The kimono he wears is black and tied with a deep purple obi. The sclerae of his eyes are black and she can see discoloration, black like rot, spreading up his neck from a point beneath his kimono. “Aizen,” she says calmly. “I believe you were already banished from this forest by Inari and their messenger. Why are you here?”

The older man sneers and steps closer to her. “That whelp? He has no dominion over this forest. And neither does Inari.”

Something like ozone, like the smell of a lightning strike, fills the air, and Rukia takes an involuntary step back. “Inari is not bound to a shrine,” she reminds him, although she has not yet called on the deity properly. “It would be unwise of you to attack one of their representatives.”

Aizen smirks at her. “I am not afraid of a god of rice and foxes. _My_ god is stronger than that, and certainly stronger than the kami I was going to use you to devour. I could find another shrine for that, but I’m in a hurry, you see, and you’ll have to do.”

Rukia takes another step back. The shrine is not so far if she takes it at a run – and within the borders of the shrine she can call upon the kami she serves, can have Ichigo at her back.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that.” He is next to her, body pressed to hers, and one hand twists her wrist so that the knife drops from suddenly numb fingers into Aizen’s hand. “I can’t have you running.”

The knife slashes and Rukia’s hakama are on the forest floor, the belt broken with one stroke. Aizen uses the red belt to bind Rukia’s wrists, deftly avoiding her kicks all the while, and then shoves her to the ground. Another strip of the hakama binds her feet, and he uses her knife to slash a wound in his thumb. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demands, trying to wriggle away before he sets a foot on her stomach and pushes in warning.

“Some gods demand a sacrifice. And a devoted miko is perfect for my purposes,” Aizen explains calmly in that silky, low voice of his. He paints symbols on her exposed skin in his blood. “You’ll be far more useful this way than puttering around a shrine your elders have forgotten.”

When he stabs her in the stomach, Rukia’s scream echoes through the forest and sends flocks of birds scattering. Blood quickly stains her kosode red and begins to pool on the forest floor around her.

The scream echoes through Ichigo’s head a second before it reverberates through the air, and he staggers with the shock of it. He regains his senses quickly and a single inhale tells him: the scream is Rukia’s, and Aizen is with her. He is faster in fox form, and with a thought he is running full-tilt through the forest on four feet, four tails streaming behind him.

The smell of her blood fills his nostrils and Ichigo runs even faster. He doesn’t know if it’s a thought or a prayer but, _Let me save her, I have to save her_ echoes in his mind. He skids to a stop just out of Aizen’s sight. The man is standing over Rukia, black discoloration climbing up his neck and cheeks.

The sight of Rukia motionless on the ground, kosode stained with blood, fills Ichigo with such a rage that it bursts out of him as foxfire, surrounding him in an unearthly glow.

“Ah. You’re a bit late, kitsune, aren’t you?” Aizen asks.

Ichigo shifts with another thoughts, standing on two legs but with his tails still swaying behind him. “I should have killed you the first time,” he says, still glowing with foxfire.

The older man laughs and glances down at Rukia. “Yes, you should have. But her lifeforce is mine now, mine and my god’s, so it’s rather late for that, isn’t it?”

Ichigo’s lip curls up in a snarl. **_This creature is like a rabid dog. The miko is mine, not his. Do what you must, messenger of mine_ , **Inari’s voice echoes in his head and Ichigo’s grin is feral.

“It’s not too late just yet,” he corrects, and the foxfire surrounding him grows stronger. Ichigo can feel himself growing additional tails: first one, and then _four_ more spread out behind him, turning white and golden. Claws grow from his fingers, and his canines are sharper than they’ve ever been before. “Not just yet.” Then he leaps for Aizen.

The knife still in Aizen’s hand scores Ichigo’s shoulder but his claws rip, shredding flesh and muscle until Aizen’s right arm is a ruin. “Is that all?” he asks, and the wounds begin to close over even as Ichigo watches. Power burns green in the man’s right hand and a miasma of sickly purple-green fog fills the forest floor. “What a pathetic kitsune you are.” He flings the green flame at Ichigo and he dodges.

The flame dissipates into the air, but the miasma grows, and Ichigo can hear Rukia coughing weakly. The kitsune leaps for Aizen a second time and dodges another ball of green flame. It catches his kimono and burns away one of his sleeves as Ichigo tears it from his shoulder and flings it to the forest floor.

The third time, Aizen aims his green flames for Rukia instead, and Ichigo leaps in front of her, taking a direct hit to his chest. It burns, and he _howls_ with the pain of it even as he keeps Rukia’s body blocked by his own.

**_You must use your fire_**. Ichigo nods to himself and this time, when he leaps for Aizen, his hands are covered in black flame. They tear through the corrupted kannushi, ripping and cauterizing on their way. Aizen screams, high and pained, as Ichigo’s claws find his heart and burn until there is nothing left. The miasma dissipates.

When the kannushi falls, dead, Ichigo’s fire surrounds him, burning until there is only ash.

Ichigo doesn’t watch. Instead he flings himself down by Rukia’s side. She is still breathing shallowly and there is _so much blood_. The wound is deep, far deeper than he would have guessed from that little knife. “Rukia. Rukia, can you hear me?”

Her amethyst eyes flutter open and she looks at him. “’chigo,” she mouths.

“I’m going to save you, Rukia.”

An hour ago, what Ichigo does next would have been impossible. But there are nine tails springing from him now, and so as his magic blankets her, power crackles through the air. Rukia’s wound heals over as he watches and her skin glows golden. Halfway through the process she passes out, and when it is done, he carries her home.  
  


She doesn’t wake for three days. Ichigo quietly tends to the garden and the horse, and takes care of the tasks that don’t require a miko. The villagers who come for guidance and divination he shoos away.

When Rukia’s eyes open late in the afternoon on the third day, Ichigo is sitting on the edge of their bed.

“What – what happened?” she rasps as Ichigo helps her sit up and take a drink of tea. “I – Aizen stabbed me, and I remember seeing you on the ground next to me.”

“Yes,” Ichigo says quietly. “I killed Aizen and healed you.”

Rukia blinks at him for a moment. “Healed me. But – have you always been able to heal?”

“Special circumstances, little miko,” he says gruffly, and gently takes the mug from her hand. He sets it down on the floor next to the bed and then his arms are wrapped around her tightly, pressing her against him from neck to waist. Her hands tentatively wrap around him as well, and Rukia lets her head rest against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispers. And then: “What special circumstances?”

“Ah.” Ichigo pulls back from her a little and kisses her gently. “Some things that are true of foxes are true of kitsune.” At Rukia’s raised eyebrow he says, “My magic bound us. And foxes and kitsune – we mate for life. I couldn’t let you die.”

Her cheeks heat. “ _Mate_ ,” she repeats, and Ichigo’s hands leave her back to find her hands instead. His tails sway behind him, all nine of them visible.

The motion makes Rukia’s expression shift, and he sees sadness in it as his eyes meet hers. “You’re an immortal,” she says quietly.

Ichigo hums under his breath. “I am,” he acknowledges.

“And I’m not.”

“That’s complicated,” Ichigo admits, and the grin on his face is a nervous one.

“How is it _complicated_?” Rukia asks. “I’m a human. A strong one, yes, but I’m still a human.”

“Ah, but you’re bound to me,” Ichigo points out, “by kitsune magic and Inari’s blessing.” When Rukia just gives him a _look_ , he mumbles, “My magic bound us, that night in the shrine when we drove off Aizen. And when I healed you three days ago, technically I…bound you to my lifeforce and you aren’t entirely mortal anymore.” When Rukia’s jaw drops he shrugs, but his eyes are shy as he looks at her. “Like I said, it’s complicated. You aren’t a kitsune, you’re still a human and a miko.”

“You said you felt it the first time we touched,” Rukia murmurs.

“I did,” he admits, and his hands squeeze hers gently.

“So we’re…mates,” Rukia repeats.

“Life-mates,” Ichigo clarifies, and the thumb of one hand strokes hers. “I’m sorry that I did it without telling you, but I –-“ He blushes and ducks his head before his eyes meet hers again. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

One of Rukia’s hands leaves his and she flicks his forehead, startling him. “Well it’s a good thing I’ve fallen in love with you too, you _fool_ ,” she tells him, and promptly bursts into tears.

Ichigo pulls her to him and laughs even as his hand strokes through her hair comfortingly. “Isn’t that a good thing, little miko?” he asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” she says into his swiftly-dampening kimono. Ichigo rubs her back and lets her cry herself out on him, and then gets a cold cloth for her eyes.

“Rest a little longer,” he says. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

But when he brings her soup, she grabs him and kisses him instead, and the soup grows quite cold before either of them notice the passage of time.

A week after Rukia’s near-death and their involuntary binding, Ichigo helps her onto the seat of the cart and together they set off through the forest toward Miyawara. They arrive, Ichigo in a black kimono and Rukia in white, as the sun is nearing its zenith. Villagers stop in their tasks and stare at the young couple, he a handsome man with hair like a sunset and she a petite woman with an otherworldly glow about her.

Ichigo ties their horse near the shrine of Inari and together they walk to the red gate, cleansing their hands and mouths as is customary.

The miko who comes to meet them bows in greeting. “Honored guests. What brings you to this shrine?” she asks. She looks at Rukia and says, “You bear the mark of a miko.”

Ichigo and Rukia exchange a look and bow back. “We’ve come to seek the blessing of the kannushi here, and declare our marriage before Inari,” Ichigo says.

There is a small crowd gathered behind them, and the miko purses her lips. “That usually requires an appointment,” she says slowly, “But let me speak with the kannushi.”

She steps into the building and returns a few minutes later with an elderly man wearing a pure white robe and dark green hakama. He bows to Ichigo and Rukia and his eyes widen.

“I see,” he says, as though one of them has said something. “I would be honored to join Inari’s messenger and his bride in marriage.”

Though the words are quiet, the little crowd behind them cheers, and even as the kannushi is calling for an additional miko to lead the procession into the shrine, flowers appear seemingly out of nowhere and a little girl hands them to Rukia.

“You’re very pretty,” she whispers to Rukia, and the miko beams.

The procession into the shrine is a brief one, and inside, the ceremony is short, for neither Rukia nor Ichigo have family beside them. Still, they drink from the san san ku do cups three times three times three, and recite the traditional vows that bind them in the eyes of the people Rukia serves.

When the ceremony is over, the kannushi bows to them and says, “I wish you a long and happy life.”

They leave the shrine, Rukia beaming and Ichigo looking at her as if she has hung the very moon in the sky. Another cheer goes up and they kiss just past the torii gate.

“I don’t understand,” Rukia says when the first villager presses a bundle into her hands. “Are we not strangers to you?”

“You saved my grandfather from illness three summers past,” the young woman corrects her. “And didn’t ask for anything in return. We’re very grateful to you, miko of the forest shrine.”

It turns out that Rukia, in her isolation, has gained a reputation. Other villagers call her the same thing as they press little gifts onto the miko and her new husband.

“Such a handsome man you’ve found,” another woman, old enough to be Rukia’s grandmother, exclaims. “Be happy for many years, miko-san.”

There are so many gifts that Ichigo whispers that it’s a good thing they’ve brought the cart. By the time they leave the village the little cart is half-full with vegetables, bags of rice, eggs, cured meats, and even beautiful linens.

“What brought that on?” Rukia asks when they are out of sight of the village.

Ichigo keeps one hand on the reins as the other reaches over to take her hand. “Didn’t you know? It’s good fortune to save a kitsune’s life.”

Rukia’s laughter echoes through the forest.


End file.
